


When Dreams Of Rings Of Flowers Fade And Blur

by wingless



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Second Person, Spirit Cole (Dragon Age), Switching Points of View, and really invested in getting his divorced elf parents back together, cole is a solavellan shipper, like some magical fantasy version of the parent trap on a more world-destroying epic scale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingless/pseuds/wingless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole watches Solas and Lavellan, and tries to rebuild the bridge between them that's been broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Dreams Of Rings Of Flowers Fade And Blur

  1. **Solas**



 

You never thought you'd find the Fade so empty.

Here, where all your joys are, a refuge in dark times and source of happiness in good ones. You have no home— have not had one for longer than one can count, but the Fade is where your heart lies. Your own personal paradise. The companionship of spirits, memories and history in ethereal form, shaped by the hearts of people and the spirits who find them, lost secrets and a wealth of treasures whose value is beyond any measure—what else do you need to find bliss? You never knew it as anything but the place where you always want to be, no matter where you are.

Except you find no peace here now. All you feel and all you hear is the sound of silence. Something is missing, something of value beyond counting, as if a piece of the world itself is missing— as if the sky or the wind or the ocean was gone. And you would like to think that you cannot understand what that might be. But lying to others and lying to yourself are two entirely different skills, and the second you never quite managed to grasp. You know what this pain is, and wish you didn't. For all you can think of is the distant noise of people you've become so accustomed to in Skyhold. The ever present background noise of people, a low thrum that has become a part of your daily life.

If it were _her_ you're longing for, that would be one thing. You have been missing her for a long time; the feeling has become a part of you now, permanent. To that, you are long accustomed, prepared. Except this is beyond the two of you, now. You're thinking of all of them. You think of her inner circle and the connections you've formed, think of her advisors to their allies to the staff and the servants. People beyond counting. Skyhold was never quiet, always busy, always full and _alive_ , and you had a life in it, however brief. You had acquaintances, people who knew your name and would come to speak to you, and you daresay you even found friends, people who found your deepest fondness and respect. Their presence has become a part of your life. Even in your youth you were never _fond_ of people at best, and large groups of them even less so, but now you feel their absence like a phantom limb.

Companionship, crowds, people— who would think you'd _long_ for it? You, of all people? And to think— attachment to the people you've been deceiving. They're going to despise you the moment they find out the truth— and they will find out the truth, sooner or later— and here you are, missing them. The sheer absurdity of it boggles your mind. One never realizes the value of what he has until it's gone, yes— but _this?_ Who would think? You should be relieved, really, at the silence, finally having your time alone again to think without all that noise getting into your head. Relieved to be in the company of spirits and beings worth your time instead of children with only the barest awareness of the vast world they live in.

Instead you are all too aware of how very, very alone you are in this beautiful, boundless world. It's fitting, in a way. This is, after all, what lies at the end of the path you've chosen.

A hope spirit, seemingly passing by, stops in its tracks to looks on you sadly. It leans downward, whispers promises and reassurances as empty as the air around you.  Phantom imitations of your comrades' voices rise around you, poor attempts to comfort you, but nothing can make you any less aware of how alone you are. You pity spirits of hope. They are innocent, yet precisely because of that— of all the spirits, they are the most cruel, and do not understand it. They cannot understand that what they give to people is often as much of a source of torture and pain as it is of reassurance, and you don't expect them to.

So you look up at it, and smile, because it's the least you can do to acknowledge its efforts. "Thank you. Truly. But you cannot help me. Nobody can. There are many in need of that rare kindness right now, and far more worthy of it; it would be better for you to extend it their way instead."

The ethereal figure in bright, deep blue looks at you, eyes full of sympathy and grief. You do not want to think of the implications of being pitied by hope as you pity it. "Please don't give up", it tells you, louder no than a whisper and fades, leaving to direct its purpose elsewhere.

And for a moment you are alone again, and you are not sure if that is a source of wistfulness or relief when your senses catch of a  far more potent and aggressive presence behind you. This is to be expected; frankly, you should have seen this coming. One is never truly alone in the Fade, and especially not when one's emotions are in a state like yours.

"Well, well. Would you look at that. The great Fen'Harel, the one and only Dread Wolf himself, savior of the People, liberator of slaves, shaper of worlds. Sitting alone in the world of his own creation, wallowing pathetically in his misery and loneliness, results of his own mistakes." Soft, sneering laughter. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

You don't need to see it to know it is a pride demon. Such presence cannot belong to anything else. But you remain seated where you are. If it can see this much, and knows anything about who it is dealing with, it will be wise enough not to attack recklessly. But ignoring it is pointless, and you engage it in conversation, carefully, frankly.

"I must admit my curiosity as to why you are here. Whatever purpose could bring you to me? I can hardly think of anything I might have now that might be of use to you, for you to attempt to extract from me."

Closer and closer it moves; blocking out all that’s behind you. You almost feel the phantom of a breath on the back of your neck. It must be at least twice your size.

"Oh, you need not worry on that account, harellan. I have not come to make demands or attempt any bargains, for there is no need for any such things. I am merely here, you see, to witness for myself a treasure the like of which one only encounters once in an eternity. And you have not disappointed me in the least." It sneers and snarls and hisses, coming into view ever slowly from the corner of your eye.

"Mortals in this age have become so very _banal_. You must know, yes? The same pains, the same struggles, the same repetitive rubble with every one of them, but _this?_ This is a feast so magnificent it might keep me sated for all of the next eternity."

Finally, it comes into view fully. You raise your head and look it directly in the eye, unflinching, and it leans downwards to face you.

"If you could only see yourself right now, Dread Wolf. What a pathetic, lowly, shabby sight you are. Ah, it is simply _sublime_. Do give me a moment. I must drink in the view."

It laughs and sneers a foul stench of breath, it has too many teeth to count in a mouth far too wide, but you have seen and faced beasts exactly like this enough times that being intimidated by them would require effort on your part. Distantly thinking how much the First Enchanter would have to say if she saw you now, you speak, slowly, calmly, as if talking to a particularly petulant child. Your voice is darker than you remember hearing it in a long time.

"And you are a base and filthy creature, fallen wretchedly from grace. The twisted depravity of a noble purpose. You became a thing that feeds off this world because you have nothing of your own to create. I do not fear you any more than I fear an insect."

"Ah, of course you don't. You are far more terrible than any demon, no? And far stronger. Your true name suits you, Pride. We are not so far apart in our nature, but you have far surpassed the levels any of us can reach. I almost look up to you. How does it feel, Fen'Harel, hmm? Knowing you, the savior of the People, have reached a hubris and atrocity that have surpassed a Pride Demon? Perhaps they were quite right to remember you as the villain of their story. It is a role that exposes what your true nature was all along." Then, it pauses in its mockery, looking somewhere behind you, past you. "My, but I see we have a visitor."

You might have questioned when a visitor you did not sense could have arrived, when he speaks. A soft, gentle voice, kind and yet steeled. A voice you so wanted and longed and yet feared hearing.

"You do not truly understand anything. Leave him alone."

It smiles full of teeth, yet steps back. "Here comes your knight in shining armor, your last and only friend in the world. One must wonder how long that will last, hm? Well, I've no mood for needless squabbles, and I've had my fill for today besides. We will meet again, trickster."

It steps back, fading away ever-so-slowly. You might have been relieved in any other situation, taken a moment to catch your breath, relax, perhaps, but the tension in your shoulders only multiplies at the feeling of a pair of eyes on your back. You get to your feet, and open your mouth to speak, yet struggle to get any words out. Them a moment passes, and finally—

"Cole."

"Yes. Your loneliness called to me."

You don't even have it in you to be surprised, and you don't know whether to be happy or be sad, and they both wash over you at once. Of course he'd find you. What could you expect? You can't really hide from him, in the end.

It takes a moment, a brief silence. Your heart thumps intensely and to think you just faced a Pride Demon without flinching but struggle to turn around just to look at Cole. Finally, finally, after what might just be almost eternity, you turn around. And just as you thought you were prepared to look him in the eye again— the moment you finally come face to face with his gaze, the firmness in it throws you off, and you step back without thinking.

There is no no venom, no judgment, no anger. These are negative emotions fit for mortals, beyond the reach of someone with a heart this pure. But his gaze is firm, and it stares you down, unhesitating, unflinching. _Brave_. He looks at you with a resolve that is almost intimidating. _He's grown. Become so strong, so tenacious._ Something almost like joy swells in you, and you don't know what it is like to be a proud father, but this must be something like it.

"You left, and you didn't come back. You didn't say goodbye I didn't understand. She was sad, so sad, and confused and angry. But I listened to you, and heard your hurt, and knew you were here. So I came here to understand why."

This is what you were afraid of. This is what you dreaded most. All your mental preparation comes crumbling down in face of the sight of him, and you bow your head, closing your eyes to collect yourself.

And Cole sees it, of course he does, because he says, "I know you're worried that I'll tell everyone what you don't want them to know, but you don't have to be. I always knew who you are, and I didn't say then, and I won't tell now. I just want to find a way to help her."

It's nothing you didn't know. But this is the first time he's acknowledged it out loud, so directly, and it startles you for a moment. A moment of fighting with yourself, and. "How long have you known, Cole? And how much?"

"From the moment I saw you. You gave us the true name, but not the name she knows you by. I saw you were not like the others because you came from an old, old world that is not this one. Tales and tales, a figure in shadow, ancient curses—turncoat, trickster, traitor. And the snarl of a beast. May he never find you in the Beyond. But not everything. I couldn't see you like I could the others. Smoke over my eyes whenever I look at you. Hard to focus, hard to hear, hazy and cloudy, like looking through the surface into the depths of the sea. You hid, because you worried I'll unmask you, but you didn't have to."

Of course. "Perhaps that was foolish of me. Are you angry that I lied, even to you?"

Through the mess of pale hair covering his eyes, you see his brow furrow, and he frowns thoughtfully, as if struggling to understand the question. "Why would I be angry? You didn't lie to _me_. You were always true to me, to all of us. Hidden, unclear, secrets and masks, but still true. But it's different now. The scales have fallen away from my eyes. I can see you now. All of you."

Slowly, slowly, he comes closer. An odd, rare tension in the air you never got from him. Looking him in the eye is not unlike staring directly at the sun. You are not so prideful that you cannot bring yourself to turn around, even if it's cowardly.

"And she doesn't know and she's hurting, You left her with a bleeding wound. I want to know, so I can tell her something that might make her less sad. So she can breathe again. She lies awake at night. Wishing, wavering, wondering, why? What have I done, where did I go wrong? And if he loves me, then why does he leave? My fault, my fault. I failed again. What kind of a hero am I, that can't save what matters most? What a hollow victory." A pause. "She's wrong, though, isn't she? You didn't leave because of her."

You shake your head, at nobody in particular. "Of course she would think that. Responsible to a fault, as always. You and I both could tell her she's not to blame as many times as we wish, and it would always fall on death ears."

"Then tell her why. Come back, or give me the reason to pass to her. She'll keep blaming herself until she has it."

Your voice, low, silent, surprises even you. "Were it that simple."

"Why can't you? You're so sad to be gone. You don't want to be here. You always said I can't help you, said to focus on the hurts I can heal, help what I can. But I can't anymore. Your hurt is so loud I could hear it from so far, from beyond this world. It sings, and such a severe silent song. You miss all of us. Then why? You were happy—" And a pause, and you could almost see him looking a little farther, digging a little deeper, now. "...Oh. But that happiness scared you. You missed it, but it was so scary to have. You always knew it won't last. Hope is always so frightening. You have so many hurts. Why is happiness one of them?"

You turn back around, place your hands at his shoulders gently. Deep fondness fills a bit of the emptiness in your heart. "Cole... the questions you ask— I can't give you answers. I'm sorry. I know why you reach out to me, but I fear it is a fruitless effort. There is nothing to be done for me. Your efforts, and kindness, are far better applied somewhere else. Do not waste it, not here."

He shakes his head furiously, hair tousling back and forth. "I can't leave it here. I can't pretend I can't hear you. And what will I tell her? How can I help her?"

"Be there. That is what she needs most." That is all you can give her, now. Make sure that he is there.

He looks down, biting his lip. Then closes his eyes, accepting, and it lasts for but a moment before he looks back up you. His eyes are so blue and so wholesome.  "If I can't heal her, let me at least understand. I've kept your secret for this long, I'll keep it as long as you need, so you can chose when to let them see you. But I have to know why you left."

"I understand that." But where would you even _begin_ to explain? Then again, do you need to? He could easily see it himself, and—

"No, I want to hear you say it. It's different what you say and what I hear. I want to know it from you, not from me."

You sift through your mind for the right words. "I made my mistakes, and I must face the consequences. There are things I must fix, wrongs I must right."

"But it's not what you want to be doing. When you took her there, you were so close on forgetting all that, giving up. You wanted to. What changed?"

"What I want has long become irrelevant in face of responsibility, things of graver consequences and far greater priority."

"You want to save them again, even if it means you destroy yourself?"

You being to speak and pause when words take leave of you, fleeing like birds scared away by a loud noise. You grasp at them futilely, trying to force them back into your hands, but all that comes out of you is, "Yes."

Cole hangs his head with a mournful expression, and you hate that you are the one who put it on his face. After a painful silence, he looks back up, the fire in his eyes renewed.

"Let me come with you. I still can't see where you're heading, but I want to go there with you. "

"That, Cole, is something I cannot allow."

"But you don't want to be alone. You're scared of it more than anything else, and—"

You take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Cole, but with your gift, I fear you might see the path that I must now walk in solitude forever. This fate is mine alone." His expression mirrors the pity from the spirit of hope earlier, but there is a heartbreak in it that's very much that of a mortal. "Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for. Though you reach out in compassion—"

You have to end this, here, and it feels like cutting off a part of yourself, but you say it anyway.

"—I must now insist that you _forget_."

And he's gone, and you are alone again.

This isn't the end of it, of course. He won't give up, and you don't know whether that's a source of despair or joy. He won't unless you erase yourself from his mind completely, but you are too selfish to bring yourself to do that. But this might delay the process, just a bit. That is enough, for now.

 

  1. **Cole**



 

Lavellan likes the room that used to be his. You found her there more times than you could keep track of, lost in thoughts loud enough for you to hear from the fortress' farthest corners. Round and wide and empty, even when he was there, but if her thoughts were real, she could fill up all the space just by herself.

He is not there, but it only makes both of you feel his presence stronger. Barely-there wisps of memories, the after scent of the presence of a man now gone. He'd spent days filling the empty wall with colors forming shapes forming pictures, turning into memories and images. Recreations of your journey and the world around you in a form only he could. They remain after he does not, and that's what calls you both there. The remains of his presence linger in the colors, and if you close your eyes you can almost see him there and hear the soft, soft sounds the brush would make on the walls, his thoughtful humming with soft, calm breaths.

Many things happened in this room. To you, and to her; it holds memories of moments she holds dear. Whenever you find Lavellan in this room— the rotunda, they call it, but to you it's his room— she's always tracing her fingers over the images on the walls, thinking things like, _the only real proof, only sign, that he was ever here. The only real thing that he really left behind. Everything else, the things he did to help, his efforts, contributions, the scars in my heart— abstract, untouchable, like air. Like he was never there. He'd probably prefer it that way._

You don't know how you can help. What hurts her is hurting you too.  And her pain hurts you, not in the usual way, not the way the hurts of those around you call to you and echo in you, no— her pain becomes a pain that's all your own. You want to heal her and make her smile again, so she'd stop looking so tired and sad when she thinks she's all alone. You know it's because she's thinking of him.

One day, you find her on the dusty couch on the side of the room, her eyes lingering in places where he once stood, and you know she's seeing the empty outline of someone who was once there. You can almost see a dark phantom figure of the missing man through her eyes, so used are you both to seeing him there. A memory so vivid it almost becomes real again. But the illusion is brief and fleeting, barely even the shred of a hope to once see him. Gone as quickly as it appeared.

Lavellan holds one hand in another, fingers intertwined between, as if trying to fill the empty space where another hand should be. "Hand feels so empty, a missing piece of me. A vacant space where he should be. Will I ever hold that hand again? You will," you add, not even realizing her stream of thoughts has poured into your voice. "You will, again, one day."

Normally she'd jump, jolt, but she remains still as if she knew you were here all along. "You can't know that."

And she's right. You don't. You don't know, but you want to believe it, so you can make her believe it, and if she'll believe it maybe that will make it a little better. But you remember something he told you once about the cruelty of hope, and you didn't quite understand but there was something about it that stuck with you, and you hesitate.

"If you believe that you'll see him again, will that make you better?"

"That's a good question." Lavellan doesn't answer, but it sets her thoughts running; you can practically see them spinning round and round her in fragments. I have to believe, how can I not? I have to keep waiting. How long can I wait? Oh, Creators, please, I beg you, just once, just once, one more time, to see him again, talk to him, just once, so I can understand, but when? How long do I prolong this, and when will this stop? How do I make this stop hurting? What if I give up? I can't give up. I never give up. But how do I move on if I don't? They stop mid-motion as she says. "If I'm honest with you, Cole... I would like to believe that, but I can't say that it will."

"But if you think you'll never see him again, it will hurt even more."

Her smile is rueful when she turns it your way. "At first, yes. Unless I decide to simply accept it, decide to let go of him, and move on. Forget all about him, like he was never there." Her voice hitches painfully at the end of the last note.

"But you don't want that. You really, really don't want that. You don't want it to end there, unfinished, unanswered, unsolved. You keep grasping into it even if holding onto it is making your hands bleed, because it's too important to let go of."

"No, I don't. I really don't." And silently— "If I were wiser, perhaps I would." _I don't want to forget, but that's what you'd suggest, wouldn't you? It's the only way to stop the pain—_

You walk over, a little closer, and bend down to look at her. "You shouldn't."

Lavellan looks up at you and blinks, eyes wide and surprise. She doesn't say it, but surprise sets her thoughts running, moving like a flock of scared birds.

"He wouldn't want you to, and you don't want to, so you have to remember him. Until you find each other again."

After a minute of staring, searching your face, her expression slowly slips into a smile, and she nods. "Thank you, Cole."

A moment of silence passes, and you watch her. Lavellan sits, deep in thought, and you ask— "But I don't know how to help you. Right now, I mean."

She shakes her head, standing up and looking somewhere far away. "No one can help me, Cole. I don't know if I can even help myself. I just..." She sighs. "Maybe this wouldn't hurt so much if I just— if I could just understand. It's all I want, to understand. I just... I have to know _why_."

 _I am not sure if this is the best idea. It may lead to more trouble._ His voice echoes on the wall— not quite his voice, not quite the way you hear it, it's his voice as she heard it, as it takes shape in her memory. The voices of others always sound different in other's head's than they sound to you. _You're right. Thank you._ Her memories, puzzling over his words, trying to find the answer in them. _You have not been what I expected. You have offered hope that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave, things will be better._

His gaze, drifting, eyes watching something far beyond what I can see. What were you hiding, love? What happened to you? _For now, the best gift I can offer is the truth. Then, what I must tell you—_ The briefest look to the side, hesitation before he opens his mouth. Something deeper hidden within that I couldn't pry out. I loved you, but did I ever really know you? _In another world— why not this one ?_ Grief in his eyes, his expression so pained it feels like it's matching my own. _I'm sorry_. He says goodbye like he's breaking his own heart, not mine, or is it both? _If we are both still alive afterwards, I promise, everything will be made clear_ , and—

"Liar." Lavellan's voice cuts down through your mutual contemplation, hard as steel. "If you were going to run and leave and leave me here to wonder, the least you could have done is not promise me answers!" Her clenched fists swings at the air, and she breathes a frustrated groan. "Fen’Harel take that lying _bastard!_ Why couldn't he just _talk_ to me? _"_

"He wanted to. He was going to."

You can practically see the spinning fragments of her thoughts stop and fall mid-motion, like a crumbling building falling, and her head turns over towards you, startled. "What?"

He wasn't going to end it when he took her there. He was going to give up on everything else and be with her, forget the wolf and become the new pride. He was so close, just another step and he'd let it go. You weigh her pain against his secrets against his pain and struggle to figure out which overrides which. Not now. Maybe someday, when she needs it, when you can hear him more clearly, but not now.

"He was going to say it all, but he was scared of what you'd think of him."

You watch the comprehension dawn on her, shock turn to an exhausted sort of sobriety. "Oh, you fool." Lavellan sighs, shaking her head, pain in her expression. "You big old fool." _But you must have had a reason for thinking that, huh? Easy for me to think that now. If I knew what you were so scared to tell me—_ And then she looks back at you, opens her mouth, and you know what she's going to say, but then she closes it again, as if to stop herself. Her eyes shift to the side; biting her lip, a brief moment of contemplation before turning to you again.

"If I were to ask you what you know about him..."

"He needs to be the one to tell you. It's not for me to say. And I... don't think you would want to know it from me. It would feel wrong, to you."

Lavellan surprises herself and you by laughing. "That's true. It wouldn't be fair to use you like that, regardless. Forgive me. The silly thought of an old woman in her desperation. You probably knew all along, didn't you? Everything he was hiding? You knew Blackwall's secrets all along, too. And you didn't say."

"Not everything. But the things I saw, I tried to keep, for him. Theirs secrets go very deep, kept so close to their hearts, and it's not for me to wring out of their hands myself."

"Of course you would. I thought, since you're a spirit... ah, but that's not fair. Varric was wrong. You're still a person, even as a spirit, and a very kind boy. He was good to you, and you wouldn't expose him like that." Her cheek nudges against her eye when she smiles, and she does that odd little thing people like to do when they put their hand on the top of your head and mess with your hair. You've learned to understand that it's a sign of affection.

"What about now? He must be in the Fade all the time. Can you sense him?"

"Earlier, I could. I think I could. But something happened, and he's out of reach now. Went too far away."

"That makes sense. He must have made sure nobody can find him, you included." She smiles sadly, eyes looking somewhere beyond you, like she knows something you don't. "I asked Leliana to track him, but that must have been pointless. If he made sure even you can't... he won't be back until he wants to, won't he?"

"No. But he will return. One day. There's no avoiding it. And when the pieces of the puzzle are all in place, and you know what is it you are holding on to, decide if to keep it or let go. You can't choose if you don't see the choices clearly."

"Yes. You're right. The question remains of what I'll do until then, but..."

"We will do what we always did. We'll help."

She nods, eyes firm. "Right. I'll do what I always did best, and what I always knew to be most important.  Thank you, Cole."

"Did that help? You're still hurting, but you seem better at the same time."

"I am. The hurt remains, but— hm, how should I put this? I can carry it better. The weight of it is less unbearable, so to speak." Lavellan's hand goes from the top of your head, to your shoulder.  There are lines on the sides of her face where the corners of her eyes crinkle. She is not old, really, not that old, but not at all young, either; a woman, not a girl. A faintest memory, belonging to someone who was you but wasn't you rises somewhere at the very back of your mind, and the word _mother_ lights up, flickers, a briefest flame. Someone in your memory had a mother, once; and she was a bit like her.

"Say, Cole... what do you think I should decide? What would you want for us?"

The answer comes to you immediately, flowing out of you before you even know it. "You have to be together again."

Whatever answer she was expecting, you don't know, but it must have been something different. Her eyes widen and eyebrows go up and all she says is, "Huh." After a pause, she smiles and adds, "I shall take that as a good sign, then."

 

  1. **Lavellan**



 

The remaining piece of what was once your arm is still burning, and you feel the missing part of you as it were a ghost.  But you feel alive, suddenly, invigorated, refreshed. Holes within holes have you have dug yourself, questions you kept asking yourself over and over and over. And now they have been filled. Answers to questions, and with it, you found so many missing pieces. You know what you have  to do now. No more wondering and questioning, lying awake at night, mind busy with over analysis of everything to ever happen for the past  year. The pieces of the puzzle, finally in place. The answers he gave you are not what you wanted to hear, but now you know. You finally know. It feels like the world has become clearer.

The path before you is foggy, but for the first time, you can actually see it at all.

With the end of the Inquisiton, you've gathered everyone you need back to Skyhold for your plans. Cassandra sits at the desk, next to where Leliana stands, back in the old spymaster cloak you haven't seen for some time since her appointment as Divine. Next to her, Harding, and on the other side of the room Iron Bull is sprawled on the couch where Dorian stands next to him. Cole took a place on the top of one of the tables, knees up to support his arms.

The first thing that happens when you finish your explanation of all that's happened is Iron Bull slapping the side of his couch with his fist. "I _knew it!_ Fucking hell, this explains _so much_!"

Dorian is rolling his eyes. "For the record, no, he didn't know. He had his suspicions, but otherwise he had no idea. Which says quite a lot, frankly, don't you think? Leliana did not know until _after_ he decided to wave us goodbye, for one. And as I recall, Vivienne questioned his story a few times, yet apparently did not think her concerns were worth acting upon. Our friend fooled us very nicely. Quite the accomplishment. Too bad it's so inconvenient for us— were it any other situation, I'd be impressed."

Cassandra sits at her desk, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. She shakes her head, and when she looks up at you, her expression is pained. "It's so... I can't believe it. Even though so many people I believed in and respected have turned out to be something else since all this began... and yet. Even Solas? How could _he_ , of all people, want to do such a thing?"

There is something of a relief to find your own heartbreak reflected in her. You look at her, feeling your own expression twist into sadness. But where will you begin to explain, really, convey it in the way he conveyed it to you? How can you make anyone understand? How would you—

"Wrong, wrong, everything is wrong. Look at this world. Wretched, wracked, rotten, and it's all because of me. Should never have made the barrier, even the world before was better than the hell I created, they deserve better. What a mess, I have to fix this, but if I fix this, undo what's been done, it will cost this world's people. Is that worth it? I must. But while this world might be better off dead, what of its people? Do they deserve this? There are beautiful things in it even now. Treasures I found in the rubble still. But this is what must be done. There is no other way." Cole's voice is cold, distant, and you almost recognize Solas' timbre in it.

That leaves the room unerringly silent. "Well, then," says Dorian. Beside him, Iron Bull stares at Cole. Leliana looks down and frowns, wringing her hands. Cassandra's expression foes from heartbroken to disturbed and then pained again. You sometimes forget that it's not only you who misses him, but when you remember, that is also crucial to your plan.

"Cole. Is that... what he thinks? Truly?"

"He looks at you, and at her," Cole responds, nodding at you, "And at many others, at all of us. And that makes him doubt. He starts to think it might be worth preserving after all, before he decides there's no choice. He's wrong, though. He wants to be wrong, too, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he can't see another way. So we'll show him."

You nod at Cole. "Exactly." And turn to Cassandra. "He thinks there's no other way. So we have to prove to him there is one, show him a better path... but to do that, we must also stop him. To get to him, we'll need a very strong force... and one that is at no risk for corruption. And for both of these things, I will need you. All of you."

Leliana tilts her head. "I assume you have a plan."

"The beginning of one. I'll need your help to properly outline and form it. We'll need to be quick, we'll need to be efficient, and we'll need to be resourceful. It's not going to be easy, without the Inquisition... but it also means we aren't at risk of infiltration or corruption. And a smaller force will be more efficient, because it is _crucial_ to stay hidden from him. What we may not have in numbers, we'll make up in skill."

You take a deep breath. "I gathered you all here, because you are the ones who can provide us with all that we will need. However— whether to join me here is your choice. I will not force you into anything. Before I proceed, I would like to ask all of you to make it clear whether or not you wish to join me in this."

Iron Bull goes first. "I'm in. Solas went off before we could have our chess rematch, and I'm still waiting to pay him back for kicking my ass. He was always weird, snippy, not to mention a smartass, but not a bad guy, and I'm not letting him become one."

"Color me intrigued." Dorian smiles, a twinkle in his eye. "Still, I helped you save the world once, and I would eagerly join you in it again, my friend. Though it seems to be a much more difficult task this time. Imagine that. But hey, I'm always up for a challenge!"

"Same here." Harding nods. "It's not going to be easy, but we did it once, and we'll do it again. There's no way I'm missing out."

Leliana hums in thought for a moment. "Saving the world yet again, hm? This would make for my third time. Far be it from me to break the rule of three."

Cassandra steps closer to you. "My friend— I do not believe I even need to say it. I would not abandon you at any moment, particularly not now. Whatever you need, and whoever you go, to fight along your side and assist you in any possible way would be an honor." She hesitates, then. "And... Solas was my friend as well. Our friend. We may not have been as close as you two, but he still meant something to me. If you intend to save him, and what you say about him is true... it is all I can do to assist you. Enough people in my life have gone down the wrong path. I do not wish the same to happen to him."

Something warm fills your heart. "Thank you, Cassandra. That means a lot to me. I don't think I could do this without you. And you'll be crucial in helping persuade him."

She frowns. "Truly? You think I can convince him?"

"His respect for you was sincere. As was his affection for Cole, and his friendship with us." You see Cole nodding fiercely from the corner of your eye. "He thought very highly of you, and that's incredibly important. If anyone can remind him there are things in the world that make it worth saving, it's you."

Cassandra stifles an awkward laugh. "It is an odd way to flatter me."

"It's not flattery. It's the truth. It's what he thinks. It happens that I agree with his opinion of you, too, but that's not the point."

Cole gets off the table and walks up to you. "She's right. He needs us to remind him. That's why I'm coming too."

"Thank you, Cole. It's important that you're with us as well."

"And what of you?" Cassandra looks at you, expression soft. "How are you feeling, now?"

You blink. "Why do you ask?"

Then, without hesitating, every single person in the room turns to you with the exact same incredulous look.  It's enough to convince you to sigh and smile at them reassuringly. "I'm fine, guys. I'm... better than I've been in years, actually."

" _Really_?" Dorian corks an eyebrow at you. "Because for someone whose love of her life has left her for two years, and came back to tell her he'd destroying the world and then severed her arm, you're taking it rather well."

"I've spent the past two years wondering why he left and trying to understand what happened. I can't say I'm  _pleased_ by this outcome, but now I know, and I finally have some closure. That, at least, is a relief. Now, I know what I must do."

Dorian throws his hands up. "And apparently what you must do is save the world. Again! Frankly, this is getting ridiculous."

"I have only one question remaining for you, then." Cassandra walks up closer to you. "What do you believe in, now? After what you have discovered?"

"I hope you're not asking me if I believe in your Maker now." You might have said that bitterly, once, had that question come from any other shemlen. Now, that you know Cassandra, you smile at her, your tone good-natured, because you can trust her with a question like that.

Cassandra shakes her head. "I only ask you, as a fellow woman of faith, even if it was a faith different than my own. What will you do, now that your faith has been, for the lack of a better word, disproven? How do you contemporize that?"

You lean back against the wall, thinking. Thinking of yourself, young, face unmarked, your heart thumping while you stare in awe at statues of the gods. Think of the feeling you had when you held a blade for the first time in your hands and your teacher leaned down and told you, as if imparting the greatest secrets of the world, _da'len, what you hold now in your hands, you must always use to protect, never to hurt. You must become strong, to protect the weak, and those who are important to you. Remember Mythal, the All-Mother, our Protector, she who brings justice and love into this world as one, and let her will guide you_. Yourself, nodding furiously, thinking of all the people you're going to save, dreams of saving your clan when you grow up and become big enough, the hero you'll want to be. _I'm going to become a hero who will make Mythal proud._

"I believe," you say, "in what I always believed in." You think of yourself sitting alone in your tent, deeply engrossed in an old, old tome describing Mythal and all the tales of her known. "In justice, and love. In knowing what's right and wrong. In protecting those who need it."

Cole's soft voice breaks your reverie. "The same faith, in a different name and shape. Repackaged, adapted to suit the new form, but the heart remains the same."

"Yes," you say, and think of Solas and the pain in his expression, so vivid and vibrant you could feel it in your own chest. You think of the mess of rage and anger and anguish the truth left in you, of yourself saying  _I don't know whether to kiss or kill him when I see him again_ as you chase him with Cassandra and Sera and Cole before the Qunari can get to him. You close your eyes, and you can almost feel the press of his lips to yours, and don't know if you're remembering the first or the last time you felt it. You remember watching anguish and wrath you could not understand years ago, trying to decipher what your people could have done to him to leave such bitterness in him. You remember the oddly familiar figures on the murals, familiar in ways you did not want to admit. _If the Dalish have done you a disservice, hahren, I would make that right_.

"Inquisitor?"

How odd to hear that title again. Old habits die hard, it seems. You turn to Cassandra, who's watching you with a concerned expression, and smile.

"Even when gods are gone, what you really believe in remains. As do the things your gods gave you. These never disappear, and they keep driving you in the remainder of your days. Now, then. Let's get to work. I have some ideas on how to do this, but I'll need your help to iron in out and form an actual plan..."


End file.
